


forget things about myself

by eyesonfire



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Art, M/M, OT5, One Shot, Paris - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 23:32:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyesonfire/pseuds/eyesonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>and paris is still just a city but its loving and losing and heartbreak and love and ducks that are never in ponds and cafes with names that are too long but its okay, and yeah, its kind of beautiful.</p><p>or the one in which harry is an over-romanticizing artist who doesn't know any french and lives in paris and somewhere along the way falls in love with every boy that comes and goes from his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	forget things about myself

**Author's Note:**

> title: ed sheeran, 'uni'.

 

paris is meant to be all shining and pretty; sunsets and starlight and the lit up eiffel tower. and it is pretty, truly, the city is gorgeous. just. harry thought it would be something more, something bigger and brighter and all together more beautiful.

he thought a lot, before he came here, and now he doesn't think much at all, just sits and wanders and paints and okay, maybe this is all he ever wanted anyway. he climbs the eiffel tower and yeah okay, there's a view but its just a view and harry doesn't weep from the beauty of it. he sits up on the roof and looks over the rooftops and sees the lights and thinks okay, this is beautiful, but it's just beautiful, it's nothing more, it's not love or meaning or life, it's just.

but he still sits, and he still paints, and okay, maybe he doesn't cry with how much everything is, but he paints what he sees and they come out alright. he sits in little parisian cafes and watches people and wonders about their stories but they're gone too fast and too quick and he doesn't get to know anyone, and how can he paint someone if he doesn't know their story?

he doesn't know any french, and he doesn't understand anything, and he doesn't know his way around and it's frightening and exciting and terrifying and wow, he doesn't think he's ever going to get used to this.

paris was meant to be a lot, but harry doesn't really see much. he sees lights and he sees a city and he sees all the things he thought he would and he just. it's different to all the stories and expectations and paris is meant to be glorious and wondrous, the city of love and light and life. he thought he would find himself maybe, or find his art, or maybe just find something he didn't even know he was looking for.

;

but it's just a city, in the end.

he's always had a habit of over romanticizing things.

;

but then he meets zayn, and it's glowing and brilliant and the stars sigh with envy when the two of them hold hands and walk past small cafes with names too long and seats too small. zayn is ruby red, violent and shocking and electric and dangerous, he's stunning and shining and wow. harry thinks. wow. he paints zayn in shades of red, stretched out and languid or curled up in a rug, on the roof smoking, and he falls in loves with zayn hard and fast and he's always had a habit of over romanticizing things. because zayn is a whirlwind, too quick to last, here and there and everywhere and then no where, gone and harry's left blinking rubies out of his eyes and wondering if he'd dreamed it all, maybe.

;

and paris is a little bit uglier but a little bit more beautiful all at the same time and okay, maybe this is perfect and harry paints in reds, autumn and vivid sunsets and passion and the strokes of paint on canvas are somehow the lines of zayn's body and somehow they're the way zayn made him feel and somehow they paint pictures of zayn inside him and somehow they're alive and life is thrumming with beauty.

;

and the paintings are wonderful.

and paris is still just a city but it's suddenly full of people and full of experiences waiting to be had and full of life and how did he not see this before? and it's crazy now, it's every night and every day, it's bundled up coffee with strangers and it's shots with more strangers and it's stories and parties and walks and running and its wonderful.

;

and then he meets liam, and he's slow and comfort and warm and he sings songs in harry's ear quietly in french and harry doesn't know what he's saying but it all sounds incredibly beautiful and they hold hands through gloves and kiss through beanies and trudge through frozen parks and feed the absent ducks. liam is soft browns and warm caramels and he's home and he's the smell of cinnamon and coffee and he's calm and peaceful and wow, harry thinks. wow. he paints liam in the autumn leaves, and he paints him on the roof, looking out over the rooftops of paris and he paints him sleeping and oops, he's fallen in love with him. but it's okay, because liam is safe and comfort and and warm and oops, he's always had a habit of over romanticizing things. because then liam is gone, swept away by the arms of another and harry is left wondering if he did something wrong.

;

and paris is a lot colder and a lot uglier and the snow falls and covers the paths they walked along, holding hands and feeding ducks that were never there and when harry paints it's in warm browns and melted chocolates and sticky caramels. somehow the canvas turns into layers of paint and layers of songs that liam once sung, lines of french he still doesn't understand and it's gentle lovemaking and pancakes on sunday mornings and wow, paris is beautiful again.

and paris is still just a city but its loving and losing and heartbreak and love and ducks that are never in ponds and cafes with names that are too long but its okay, and yeah, its kind of beautiful.

;

and the winter comes and it's hard and heavy and it's snow and rain and cold mornings and colder nights and coffee that's too hot and he paints in whites and he eats too much pastry. and he still doesn't know a lot of french and he still doesn't understand some things but he thinks maybe he's getting a little bit used to paris.

;

and then he meets niall and he's happy and sunshine and warmth and everything that winter in paris isn't and everything that harry needs right now and he loves food even more than harry and he takes harry to all the best cafes and he doesn't ever fully stop laughing. and niall, he's bright yellow and he's a little bit orange and he's maybe a little bit lime green and wow, harry thinks. wow. he's bright and wonderful and so happy, all the time, and he smiles in his sleep and he's maybe the laziest person harry's ever met and harry paints him laughing. and harry doesn't even realise he's fallen in love with him until he moves on on his great adventure from ireland to paris and to onwards and harry kisses him goodbye.

;

and paris doesn't even get duller with the yellows gone, because the memory of niall keeps harry smiling and anything involving niall just can't be sad and wow, maybe he's okay. he doesn't have a broken heart because he's happy it happened and he paints in yellows and irish green and remembers sinking into the happy warmth of niall and he smiles and yeah, paris is beautiful in the spring.

and he ventures out without five million layers and he paints on the roof again and he can almost smell the cigarette smoke zayn left here months ago and somehow his yellow paintings have red melting into them, and brown creeps in from the bottom without him realizing and wow, okay, this he likes.

and he's good, he's really good. he goes to all the coffee shops niall showed him and he feels like he knows his way around and he sings the songs liam sung him and he feels like he know the language and he sits where zayn sat on the roof and he feels like he maybe understands and yeah, paris is the place for him.

;

and then he meets louis and he's an explosion and a firework and a circus and an oil spill mixing with an open flame and wow, harry thinks he might half love him and half hate him because he's chaos and harry is order. and he bowls his way into harry's life and apartment and body and harry can do nothing but hold on for the ride and he paints a chaos of colours and a disaster of a mess of paint that somehow is his favorite artwork ever and he thinks he might try keep this one around. he paints louis as a rainbow and as a supernova and paints him in every colour at once and it would be crazy if it didn't somehow work so perfectly and harry's gone and fallen in love with him before he even knows his last name. but it's okay because he's not scared, he can't be scared around louis because he's everything at once yet somehow nothing bad and wow, harry thinks, and wow doesn't cover it.

and louis doesn't leave, and harry doesn't stop painting him, and sometimes he's laughing and sometimes he's brooding and sometimes he's fire and passion and sometimes he's calm and comfort and always he's himself and yeah, he's pretty sure paris is perfect. and louis doesn't know the language but he pretends to and he barely knows his way around but that doesn't stop him confidently striding in the general direction of an adventure and yet louis understands.

and paris is suddenly shining and glorious and wow, he can paint and paint and its wonderful.

and harry paints louis and he weeps from the beauty of it, and he looks at louis and he feels happy and he looks at paris and he feels at home and okay, maybe this is all he wanted all along.

 


End file.
